


Hollow Hearts

by Silverblind



Series: A Different Path [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Low Chaos Daud, Non-Canonical Character Death, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/Silverblind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate twists, and the one that should have lived dies, while the one that should have died lives. But the river must follow its course; Daud knows this as well as any man. -Part 2 of the series, can be read on its own-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Corvo

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read part 1, just know that Daud is Emily's father.

Corvo woke in a small boat, drifting aimlessly on the river, surrounded by the tall buildings of a city he had once loved.

He remembered Samuel’s words, and knew that the old man’s wish would not come true. Even now he could feel the poison coursing through him, killing him, choking every last drop of his life from him.

He was dying.

He saw them standing far above him, two sinister silhouettes that looked like monsters against the high noon sun. He knew even before they blinked down to him, however, that they were only men. He felt hatred boiling his blood, and anger fogging his thoughts, knowing he could never avenge the Empress’ death now, even as her killers stared down at him, dreadfully familiar masks hiding their faces. Whalers.

“This is the one who was with the Empress when she died,” the man’s voice sounded strange, metallic, and alien. He bent down, and Corvo could feel his eyes inspecting him even through the lens of his whaling mask. A hand reached out to his chin, turning his head to the side. He could not resist. “Poisoned. Tyvian stuff.”

“Amateur work,” said the other. “But the poison has had too long to do its work. I reckon he doesn’t have very long to live.”

“What should we do?” the first asked, standing again.

“That's up to Daud.”

Corvo felt himself fade as one blinked away, and his head fell with a _thunk_ to the bottom of the bark as he fainted.

* * *

 

When he woke again he coughed, his breathing laboured and painful as it had not been before. He knew there were but a precious few hours left to his life.

He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurry and unfocused, the Whalers he knew to be around him only blots that flitted about hurriedly. He felt himself being lifted from the boat and put into what almost seemed to be a cage. Then the cage shook and trembled as it was lifted from the ground, and Corvo almost wondered if he was already dead. The white-hot pain in his chest told him that it was not the case.

It seemed like a long while had passed before the cage was finally placed on solid ground again, and he could feel a dozen eyes staring at him as the Whalers whispered amongst themselves. From the black shadows around him one seemed to be brighter, blood-red, and it stepped forward to open the door to the cage. He felt himself swaying and falling forward before he was caught by a pair of arms and laid down on the wooden floor of what seemed to be an abandoned Whale Oil refinery.

“He was poisoned, Daud,” Corvo heard, somewhere above him. “Had we found him earlier, we could have saved him, but now…”

“No matter,” the voice was hoarse and deep, and the face that appeared above the Lord Protector’s, although blurred, made his rage burn anew. The scar that ran from the man’s brow to the corner of his mouth had been forever etched into the bodyguard’s memory. The dark eyes searched his for a long while. “With only his body, we’ll still be able to claim a substantial reward.”

“Daud,” Corvo rasped, and if the master assassin was surprised to hear him speak, he did not show it. More whispers rose around them – they died with an annoyed gesture from the older man. “I’ve – found you.”

“A swig of poison too late I’m afraid, bodyguard,” Daud replied, and the tight smile on his lips was not what Corvo had expected. There was no glee or amusement there, merely – guilt? The Lord Protector thought he must be hallucinating.

“Leave us,” the man said finally, surprising both Corvo and his Whalers, if the looks they traded before obeying were anything to go by. Only one lingered.

“Sir, shouldn’t we – “

“Leave, Thomas,” Daud snarled, and the Whaler was gone.

“You killed her,” the Lord Protector panted, caring little for the rage he heard in his own voice. It did not matter now; soon enough, he would be dead. “Why?”

“Business,” the assassin answered, but the thin line his lips had become as he pressed them together told the bodyguard it was not all. “A job well done. Hiram Burrows – “

“I – know about – him, and he paid for his – crimes,” Corvo said, and with a grunt of effort he raised his hand, grabbing the older man’s collar and yanking him closer. “What I meant – how – how could you do – this? To _her_? And – Emily? Your own – daughter?”

Daud stood suddenly, escaping the bodyguard’s weakened grasp and stepping away from the Lord Protector, his hands tightening into fists at his side.

“How do you know of this?” he ground out between his teeth. Corvo made a sound that could have been a chuckle, but came out as a groan followed by a violent cough.

“J – Jessamine told – me everything,” the younger man replied. “Years ago. I tried – tried to hunt you down then – “

“And you failed,” Daud said coldly.

“Indeed. And now – that you are before me, I am – am too weak to punish you for – either of your crimes.” He laughed bitterly before another cough cut him off. Daud turned away, placing his hands on the railing of the platform and staring down toward the murky waters far below them.

“I’ve realized my wrongs, Corvo, and I’ve righted them – in a way that would be too long to explain now,” he said after a long while, and the laboured breathing of the younger man was his only answer. “When I killed your Empress and took our daughter,” he paused at the word, “something broke inside me. Now I want nothing but to leave this city. And fade from the memories of those who reside here. I’ve had enough killing.”

He turned back to the other man, and approached his prone form, kneeling next to him again.

“I would ask for you forgiveness,” Daud began, and Corvo thought he could see something akin to sadness in his eyes. “But there is no turning back from the path I have chosen, and I’ve never been one for apologies.”

The Lord Protector gathered the last of his strength and sat up so that he could see into the other man’s eyes, trembling and panting with the exertion, grasping at the assassin’s shoulder for support. He could feel himself dying.

“The stain will – never wash out,” he hissed harshly. He felt his grip on sanity slowly slipping and he gritted his teeth – only a minute, only a moment more, he prayed. “But you – can still h – help.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. Daud’s face was impassive before him, but the bodyguard knew he was listening.

“They – have her now,” Corvo murmured. “Havelock, and Martin, and Pendleton. I thought they – were better than this, I – I really did. But they want to – use her, just like Campbell and Burrows – and – and all the others. You can’t let that happen, she – deserves better. Pay the debt – you must pay your debt.” A breath. The air tasted sour and smelled of blood – or perhaps it was only the poison doing its work. Quickly, quickly now. Speak. “The Hound Pits – Pub, they – must still be there – or a trail at least, leading – to them. Daud – your daughter – you must help – her. Maybe – in her own – time, _she_ will forgive you. I – I know _I_ cannot. The Hound Pits Pub, near the Flooded District – “

With a shudder and a sigh, the Lord Protector fainted, and Daud laid him back on the wooden floor of the Refinery. The end was near.

“I’ve done my part,” the assassin said as he stood, turning his back to the unconscious man and once again gazing out onto the grey expanse of the Flooded District. He linked his hands behind his back, and felt the Mark of the Outsider pulse with power as he clenched a fist. He could almost hear the whale god’s voice.

 _What will you do, I wonder? My dear friend, I’ve seen you kill nobles and peasants alike, I’ve seen you steal and murder and torture. But Daud, never have I seen you trying to redeem yourself before those last few days. You’ve saved her once; will you do it twice? Thrice, should she need your help again? After all, Corvo is right. The debt_ must _be paid._

“I’ve done my part,” Daud whispered, and he knew the Outsider heard him.

* * *

 

Corvo Attano died before the day was done, and Daud disappeared in the night with five of his most loyal Whalers. When the rest of the gang realized his disappearance, they found that the sinister mask the Royal Protector had worn was gone, too.

 


	2. Emily

Emily liked the Hound Pits Pub well enough, but she did not like her room in the tower.

Every night the wind would howl and scream, making it hard to fall asleep for the young girl, and whenever sleep _did_ finally find her, she would be haunted by strange dreams of whales and flames and a young man with black eyes that whispered terrible secrets into the darkened confines of her own mind.

“I don’t want to sleep here anymore,” the young Empress told Callista more than once when she woke up with dried tears staining her cheeks and the echoes of a whale song still fresh in her memory.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” the nursemaid answered every time. “But we are safer in here if something happens, and there is really no other rooms for us to use.”

“But it’s haunted,” the young girl had said once, and the dark look Callista had shot her had been enough for her to never attempt mentioning the black-eyed ghost again. Since then she dreaded returning to the tower each night.

One morning she found a singing bone on the beach, washed up with the midnight tide, and she hid it under her pillow that evening, hoping it would chase the dreams away. She had heard they were used for protection and good luck by some people across the Isles, and knew it was forbidden to do so. She was careful to hide it from Overseer Martin and Callista.

But the dreams that night were more vivid than ever, and the girl rose early to throw the sculpted bone from the top of the tower. She watched with satisfaction as it sank to the bottom of the river. She hoped to never see it again.

Up until then, her dreams had always been different each night. But after the night she spent with the bone under her pillow, the black-eyed ghost whispered but one thing, over and over again, until it became etched into her memory, branded in fiery letters into her tender young mind.

_You will never be Empress._

* * *

 

The sun rose one morning to find the Pub strangely still – or at least, it seemed so to Emily. Even as the servants flitted about as usual, something dark seemed to bear down over all of them. The Lord and the Admiral seemed restless, even more so than they usually did when Corvo was away, and when the Overseer arrived later that morning, the three locked themselves away inside Havelock’s room. Emily went about her lessons with Callista, the uneasy feeling that a storm was brewing never leaving her even as the others went about their business without a care. Corvo came back that night, successful, and they raised a glass in his name and hers. She kissed his cheek and he went up to sleep, visibly exhausted. She stayed up for a while, drawing, before Callista dragged her to bed, and she remembered seeing Havelock, Pendleton and Martin whisper amongst themselves before she left the common room.

That night, she did not dream.

She woke in the morning to find Corvo gone. She was disappointed, but Havelock said he had only gone to inspect the sewers for weepers, and should be back soon.

Then the servants were called into the yard, and the killing started. It was so sudden that Emily could not cover her eyes. Wallace was first – he was cut mid-sentence by a shot to his chest, and his blood sprayed Emily’s shoes. The girl watched as the fine crimson droplets dripped off the tip of her feet and to the ground – _drip drip drip;_ she could almost hear it. She looked up from her feet to see Callista being pushed to the ground and Martin striding towards her. She could not run. She could not fight. She let him cover her eyes and drag her away.

“Go fuck yourself, Havelock,” said Lydia.

Another shot.

“No! Not her!” Emily could hear Havelock shout. “I owe her uncle a debt. Miss Curnow – “

“Leave her!”

There was the sound of hurried footsteps toward her, before the sound of a slap and a gasp from Callista rang out. Still blinded by Martin’s hand, Emily saw nothing.

“Do not make me regret my kindness, Miss Curnow.”

“Your kindness? You – “

The click of a pistol cut her off.

“Run. Leave this place. They will kill you if they find you here.”

The distant roar of an engine was heard from the river. Emily squirmed in the Overseer’s grasp. It had to be Samuel, but he must not come, not _now,_ they would kill him too –

“Piero’s locked himself in!” Pendleton snarled as the heiress felt herself being dragged toward the dock. The sound of the engine was closer now, and the girl could tell it was not Samuel. She was relieved. Emily started to struggle, but Martin’s grip was too strong. She kicked and tried to bite, only earning a grunt from the Overseer.

“Leave him. We have to get to Dunwall Tower. Quickly,” Havelock answered.

Had she seen any less than what she had, she might have believed they were taking her home. But she knew now she would never truly go home, not as long as they lived.

“CORVO!” she called. She wondered what they had done to him and felt a shiver of dread run through her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unbidden. “HELP! SOMEONE! CORVO!””

“This should keep her still,” a voice she did not know said, and she felt a needle in her arm before darkness engulfed her.

* * *

 

When Emily woke, she could smell the salt of the ocean and feel the rolling of the waves. They were still on the boat, then? Had they already been to the Tower? She did not know how much time had passed since they had left the pub.

“Is it done, then?” she could tell Havelock was near.

“Yes,” answered Martin’s voice. “I _am_ the High Overseer, after all. With my support, they had no choice but to name you Lord Regent.”

“Excellent,” the Admiral replied. Emily tried to sit, but she felt sick and chose to stay put. “The girl?”

“She should be coming to any minute now. I told them we were taking her to Kingsparrow Island for her own safety.”

The heiress could hear the shouts of sailors as the boat slowed to a stop, and Martin’s face appeared above hers, forcing her to stand. She refused to speak to him even as she swayed and he held her upright, slowly bringing her out on the bridge.

“Lady Emily,” the soldiers saluted as she passed before them, and she could feel the Overseer looming behind her threateningly, his hand pressing into her shoulder and ushering her forward. She wondered who they would believe should she tell everything she had seen them do that morning.

_Not you_ , the black-eyed ghost whispered from the border between her reason and her imagination. _The girl against the Admiral. The heiress against the Lord Regent. The traumatized child against the seasoned warrior. They will think you mad._

And so she was silent as they brought her to the Lighthouse, and she told herself she would not fight them. Someone would come for her.

But then she saw the small room atop the Lighthouse, and the key in Havelock’s hand, and she knew what he wanted to do, memories of the Golden Cat flooding back into her mind. She felt Martin pushing her forward even as she struggled, her shoes still speckled with blood catching on the carpeted floor, her hands trying to find purchase on anything that would allow her to resist.

“No! No, please! Admiral, no! Corvo! CORVO!”

But the two men were too strong for her, and as she tried to push past them they threw her into the room, her head banging loudly on the wooden frame before they slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place even as she laid on the soft carpet covering the floor. She could hear their voices as they stepped away from her door.

“Would you care for whiskey?” asked Havelock. The young Empress sat up, and she could feel the side of her head pounding. She ran her fingers over the sore spot. No blood. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“Gladly,” she heard Martin reply. “I trust you will join us, Lord Pendleton?”

“Of course.”

They talked for a long while after that, but Emily did not listen, curling up in a darkened corner but refusing to cry all the same.

Soon, there was only silence.

* * *

 

She had not wanted to fall asleep, but she must have, for the black-eyed ghost was before her again, and this time he did not speak, only showing her images of men and women in strange masks she had seen only once before, on the day where everything had changed. For the first time in her life, Emily felt hatred coursing through her.

But then he showed her the dark-eyed man who had stabbed her mother, and called him friend.

She screamed and cried and raged at the specter, and he did nothing but smile. When finally she was silent and breathless, he bowed to her. The smirk had never left his lips.

“You will see.”

* * *

 

Emily woke to voices outside her door. Her head was still throbbing, but she leapt to her feet and pounded on the door until her fists hurt, calling out and screaming.

“Havelock? You have to let me out! Who’s there? Corvo? Can anyone hear me?”

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door and she stepped back, ready to bolt, but as the lock clicked and the door swung open, she saw the sinister mask that she knew hid the face of her Lord Protector, and she smiled. But something was wrong. The dark coat and breeches were gone, replaced by a crimson jacket and leather gloves that Corvo had never worn. Her smile faded, and her eyes rose to meet the mask’s cold, empty lens.

“Who are you? How did you get this mask?”

The stranger’s hand rose, and she could see silhouettes behind him, silhouettes wearing the whaling masks of those who had murdered her mother. The girl felt a cold hand grasp at her heart as Corvo’s mask moved away to reveal a scar and dark eyes.

“I’m a friend,” said Daud, the man who had killed the Empress of the Isles.

* * *

 

She ran.

She ran and he let her go, the other assassins not attempting to stop her either, letting her flee to the elevator. She barely noticed Pendleton and Martin slumped over the table, but almost tripped on Havelock, who was laying facedown across the doorway. Bodies greeted her on her path – but they were still alive, she noted as their chests fell and rose in time with their breaths. The heiress hurriedly rushed into the elevator, pulling the lever and fidgeting as it began its slow descent. As soon as the door opened again, she leapt from the lift, going down the stairs as fast as her feet would allow her. More bodies. More deserted posts. An empty courtyard that she knew should have been crawling with soldiers. She did not linger.

When finally Emily reached the beach, she saw Daud waiting for her and knew it was useless to run. She slowly came to a stop, panting from her run and staring straight into the assassin’s eyes.

“Where is Corvo?” she spat, and saw him step forward. “Don’t come any closer!” he complied. “Did you kill him too?”

“No, girl,” he answered, and she could feel relief flooding her veins, but it was short-lived. “Havelock did.”

Emily felt herself falter, and her vision became blurry as tears welled in her eyes. A whimper escaped her throat before she felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks. The last remnant of her former life was gone.

She heard Daud approach and lowered her eyes to her shoes. The blood, so red and bright before, was now black and dry, flaking off the leather. She refused to look at him when she spoke.

“Are you going to kill me too then?” she asked, and her voice was frail and broken. Her tears flowed still, but her hands had clenched into fists at her sides.

“No,” he answered. “We’re going to take you away.”

Emily looked up at him then. She did not know if she was more surprised, angry, or sad. She had never before been so tired.

“But I’m Empress,” she protested weakly.

A smile twitched on his lips.

“No,” he answered. “You’re a little girl. And Dunwall, the world, is not kind to little girls.”

She was silent for a moment, thinking on his words.

“I’ve been having dreams about a black-eyed ghost,” she said. “He said I would never be Empress, and that you were a friend.”

The assassin stared down at her pointedly. She could feel the wind of the ocean drying her cheeks. A boat was swaying on the waves at the dock. She had expected him to laugh, or scold her, as Callista had done, but he only sighed.

“I’ve met him too,” Daud said after a long while, and he peeled off a glove, showing her the mark on the back of his hand. She remembered seeing the same symbol painted on the singing bone she had found at the Pub, so, so long ago, it seemed. “We don’t like each other very much, but I’ve known him for many years, and he’s never lied to me.”

“I will never sit the throne, then?” asked the girl who had been raised to rule an Empire.

“I don’t believe so,” answered the Knife of Dunwall.

They were silent for a long while before Emily sighed, and she sat in the sand, staring down at her hands before once more looking up to the man that still stood before her. She felt… almost relieved. The city was dying; she had understood that long ago, even if everyone thought she couldn’t. She did not want to rule over ashes and bones.

“Take me away,” she whispered, and she let him gather her into his arms, turning away from the Lighthouse to step on the boat. The Whalers busied themselves around her, and her hands tightened into fists, the jacket bunching into her hands. Daud was silent. She thought she ought to be sad, but Emily only felt hollow.

She fell asleep to the breathing of the assassin and sound of the waves, and dreamed of oil-black eyes and flying whales.


	3. Daud

Daud had never felt so old.

The mask in his hand seemed heavy and cold, and he stared into its empty lens as the sky slowly darkened outside his office, wondering when the fates would leave him be. The Lord Protector’s body had been taken away, and most of the Whalers were celebrating the reward that would be sure to soon come their way. The Knife of Dunwall could not join them.

He had not lied to the Lord Protector; he dreamt of the Serkonan beaches of his youth and the shadowed alleys of the city he had known as a child, of peace, solitude, and a silent death, far away from Dunwall and its ghosts. After a life of murder and plots, the dream seemed petty, unattainable; he almost chuckled to himself in the silence of his office. But he knew he had to leave. He had had enough of Dunwall and its intrigues, and the city had had more than enough of him.

But before he could disappear, he had one last task.

He had made his decision as soon as he had heard the bodyguard’s words; his daughter needed his help, and Daud’s conscience, ignored for too many years, demanded he repay his debt. Corvo had been right; she deserved better.

She deserved the golden sands of Bastillian, the exotic spices of Cullero and the colourful streets of Karnaca. She deserved better than a life of servitude and obligations to a people who would never show her any gratitude for her work. She deserved better than this gray city of bones and stones and blood and steel.

She deserved better than to be Empress, and she deserved better than Dunwall. He could give her all of this, once he freed her from the new Lord Regent’s grip, and even if she refused to go with him, she would be free. He would have to act fast, however, and alone. The Whalers would not understand.

Daud wondered if he was being selfish, or righteous. _Both_ , echoed the Outsider’s voice.

“Sir.”

He was not surprised to see Thomas had pushed open the door to his office. He had been lurking about for hours, no doubt seeking to gather the courage to disturb him when he had asked not to be. The master assassin placed the Lord Protector’s mask before him as he gestured for his second-in-command to approach. The mask and hood that usually hid the younger man’s face from view were gone. With his handsome face, blond hair and green eyes, the lad would have made some lady very happy, had he been better-born. But he had been raised in the muddied alleys and shadowed streets of Dunwall’s slums, and he had seen his hands reddened with blood under Daud’s tutelage. He was younger than most of the Whalers, but more loyal than any of them.

“What do you want?” Daud growled, placing his hands on either side of the mask before him.

“I have a confession to make, Sir,” the other said, and he shifted uncomfortably. The older man stayed silent, waiting for him to speak. “I may have – _overheard_ your conversation with the bodyguard, Sir – before he died.”

“ _Overheard?”_ Daud could not help but chuckle joylessly. He leaned back into his chair, smoothing a hand across his forehead with a sigh. “I think it would be more appropriate to say you _spied_ on me.”

Had he truly been so distracted with the Lord Protector’s words that he had not noticed one of his own men eavesdropping on them? He supposed it was possible. He _had_ been rather distracted as of late.

“Perhaps,” Thomas replied, and he looked almost sheepish, although not enough to keep him silent. “But… well, is it true? What he said, about the Empress and – “

A wave from Daud’s hand silenced him, and the master assassin looked at his second-in-command for a long while. The Knife of Dunwall did not have favourites; everyone was equal amongst the Whalers, a privilege they would not have been able to boast of had they chosen to remain amidst Dunwall’s ‘respectable’ society. Only twice had he allowed himself to break that rule he had established for himself; with Billie, who had been his brightest pupil, and once more with Thomas, who had come to them at a young age and had almost been the child Daud thought he would never have, before Emily came along. He had let the young man get away with too many pranks and jokes in his younger years for him to not be aware of Daud’s weakness.

Perhaps it was that affection that made the Knife of Dunwall share his secret.

“It is,” he answered quietly. “Emily is my daughter.”

“And what will you do, Sir?” Thomas seemed calm, his face impassive. But Daud knew him well enough to know it took him all of his self-control to rein in his curiosity. Had the circumstances been any different, he might have scolded the young man, but now he could only laugh humorlessly.

“What else _can_ I do but go free her?” he rose, brushing the mask aside before walking to the open doorway behind him, letting his eyes wander aimlessly over the ruined buildings of the district. “I thought it would be enough to save her from Delilah’s plan. Then she would have been set to sit the throne, Corvo at her side, and never again would I have had to worry about her. But it seems she will never be safe. Not here, not in Dunwall, or even Gristol. She must leave the city, and _I_ must leave with her. This town took everything from me, and now, with her Lord Protector’s death, it has taken everything from _her_ , too. Corvo was right, she deserves better than a life of manipulation and intrigues, the only life she will ever know if she stays here.”

He took a deep breath and did not voice the rest of his thoughts. _I don’t want her to die broken and betrayed, like her mother before her_. The air smelled of rotting wood, sea salt, and old wounds. He turned back to Thomas and was about to speak, but the young man spoke before he could:

“Please, Sir, allow me to come with you,” he said, coming to stand in front of the older man. Daud could see his hands clenching into fists. He knew the young man considered the Whalers as his family, and he had no doubt he understood what his departure would mean for the gang. “I know others will want to help you as well. We can – “

“No,” the master assassin cut him off, shouldering past him to go sit at his desk again. He would not allow his feelings get in his way. Not again. “I leave tonight – alone. That is final.”

* * *

 

When Daud left his office that night, with Corvo’s mask clutched tight in his hand, he saw Thomas, and four other Whalers standing there, waiting for him. Good men and women all. He wondered if they knew what they were getting into. But it was too late for him, and too late for them. Without a word, he blinked away, knowing they would follow.

By the time the rest of the Whalers woke in the morning, they would be long gone, and the gang’s supernatural powers with them. The smartest amongst them would undoubtedly recognize this for what it was: the end of Daud’s Whalers. The end of an era.

Daud left the last remnants of his life behind him without a second thought.

* * *

 

The journey upriver to the Hound Pits Pub was fast and uneventful, their small boat slipping easily past the blockades under the cover of darkness. Despite the hour, the pub was still teeming with City Watch when the assassins reached it, and Daud sent one of his men ahead to scout while he allowed the boat to drift noiselessly to a conveniently placed crumbling wall, shielding them from prying eyes as they waited for his return.

The first rays of sun had begun to peek over the river when he returned, reporting Tallboys and multiple Watch Officers, for a total of almost twenty men.

“There are men locked in the Workshop,” he added. “And someone in the Tower, as well. I suppose they were betrayed by the Admiral, too, and they’re in hiding.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Daud said, and once the others had blinked away he breathed deep before slipping on the Lord Protector’s mask and pulling a hood over his head. He waited a moment as his eyes adjusted to the lens before joining his Whalers.

It was not as easy as Daud would have believed to clear the place, but they still managed it without shedding so much as a single drop of blood, as per the master assassin’s orders.  When the last Tallboy had fallen, they regrouped in the courtyard.

“Search every room and every floor,” Daud ordered. “We must know where they have gone. I’ll search the attic myself; Thomas, Connor,” he said, turning to the two young men, “you have the third floor. Emma, Liam,” the two middle-aged siblings stood together, “the common room, and the basement. Grace, go with Anna. Sentry duty. The Workshop and the Tower are to be left alone.”

The two ex-courtesans nodded, and the group was quick to disperse to attend to their tasks. Daud was left to climb the stairs to what he was sure must have been the Lord Protector’s chambers, if the gigantic drawing on the wall was anything to go by. He stared at it for a long while. Emily had surely left it there for her bodyguard in the hope he might come back. But she would never see him again. He sighed.

As he turned to explore the rest of the room, a crumpled sheet of paper, half-obscured by a bedframe that had been negligently pushed against the wall, caught his eye. As the assassin picked it up, he saw it was a letter. The penmanship was childish and clumsy at times, but still perfectly legible.

_Corvo,_

_Remember before when I mentioned a special drawing I was working on for you? This is it. Havelock said you were in the sewers, but you’ve been gone for hours. I heard the Admiral tell Martin that the Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island was ready, and that we should go soon. I hope you get back before then, but if you don’t, I guess I’ll see you there._

Below, scrawled hastily, was her name, _Emily_. He read it, again and again. It was obvious the little girl loved the bodyguard very much. The word scribbled over the drawing, _Daddy_ , told him as much. Corvo had been the father the heiress had never known, and the Knife of Dunwall knew he could never hope to replace him – nor did he want to. Would she even accept him after he had murdered her mother? Daud left the letter where he had found it as he left the room. It was too late to go back now; he could only wait and see.

He found Anna crouching on the walkway between the attic and the tower, watching a small riverboat drifting in the distance. She stood at the sound of his steps, facing him.

“They’re at Kingsparrow Island,” he said to her, and she nodded, crossing her arms.

“I’ve heard of it,” she replied. “It’s a little ways downriver, but we should be there before noon if we leave now. Last I heard, they were building some kind of Lighthouse.”

“That’s right,” Daud answered, and together they blinked down to the courtyard, where the other Whalers quickly came to join them.

When their boat left the Pub, the sun had not even been up for two hours.

* * *

 

Kingsparrow Island was so much more than a Lighthouse.

It was a fortress, plain and simple. The perfect place to lock away the heiress to an Empire, when one feared for her safety – or for her captors’.

The fort sat like some great hulking beast on the rocky shore of the small island, an ugly mass of steel and stone that stood still as guards crawled in and out of it like scavengers on a whale’s carcass. Arc Pylons, Watchtowers and Walls of Light had been set up, ready to stop anyone who would be foolish enough to try and attack the place.

Daud almost smiled beneath his mask as he watched it all from the rocky hill on which he stood.

What admirable fools they were, thinking this would keep the shadows away.

Slowly, patiently, the Whalers and their master worked their way toward the Lighthouse; guards were neutralized quickly and silently, their limp bodies taken away where they would not be seen and where they would wake safely. The Sokolov systems were shut down with ease, their whale oil tanks stashed away so that they could not be reactivated. It was easy. Almost like business again. But always the Lighthouse that loomed over them and the mask that shielded Daud’s face from their eyes reminded the Whalers of their purpose.

The wind was roaring and howling violently as they stepped from the lift at the top of the Lighthouse. The few guards that patrolled the area were taken down quickly, and the group made its way inside. However, the Whalers stepped back when they came to the foot of the grand staircase that spiraled toward the top of the Lighthouse. Daud touched the mask hiding his features, feeling his gloves smoothing over leather, metal and glass. His hands were trembling, but he did not know whether it was from nervousness, or exhaustion.

The memory came to him unbidden; he was eight again, sitting next to his mother on a beach near Karnaca. He could not recall her face, but her words were clear, even now:

_Someday, you’ll be strong. You’ll be strong, and feared, and respected. Remember, Daud._

He was feared, he knew.

Respected? Perhaps.

But as he began to climb the stairs toward his daughter and the man who wanted her for himself, Daud did not feel strong at all.

He heard Havelock before he saw him, talking to himself in the richly decorated war room that opened atop the staircase. A grim sight greeted Daud as he hid in the shadows; two bodies were slumped over the table in the middle of the room, the glasses that had slipped from their grasp in their death throes and the alcohol he saw seeping through the maps that lay on the table making their end obvious; it seemed Havelock had a preference for poison.

The man himself stood next to the fireplace, his back turned to the doorway as he lamented of days gone by and things Daud cared little for. He was broad-shouldered, and obviously battle-hardened, if the well-used weapons hanging at his side were anything to go by. His arms were thick and his hands strong, but when he turned to face the doorway the Knife of Dunwall saw that he was old, and made older still by the things he had done. Daud was no stranger to the haunted look in the Admiral’s eyes. The Lord Regent’s hand shook even as he raised his glass to his lips.

Daud stepped from his hiding place, and Havelock did not seem surprised.

“Hello, Corvo,” he said. “I knew you would find me.”

Then his eyes lingered on the crimson jacket, the leather gloves and the weathered boots. He frowned.

“Your poison succeeded where so many failed before, Admiral,” the master assassin said, stepping forward. The man did not know him, he knew. “The Lord Protector is dead.”

The Lord Regent’s face turned impassive and cold, although his hand still shook, betraying his inner turmoil.

“Then who are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to finish the job,” replied Daud, simply. “I’m here to finish Corvo’s task.”

Havelock’s brow furrowed, and his hand reached for his pistol. But the Knife of Dunwall was faster, and he blinked forward, pressing the muzzle of his own pistol under the Admiral’s jaw. The man froze. Daud knew the other was not afraid to die, and that he would gladly fight, yet something held him back. He did not care what.

“Who are you?” Havelock asked again.

“No one anymore,” the master assassin answered, and his wristbow clicked into place, the sleep dart easily punching through the Lord Regent’s layers of clothing, and the Admiral fell, limp and unconscious, across the doorway. Daud tucked his pistol away, and he could hear the Whalers climbing the steps.

“Dead?” Thomas asked, stopping a few feet away from the older man and eyeing the body at his feet.

“No,” answered Daud. “Let him pay for his crimes in Coldridge.”

He bent over the Lord Regent, snatching the key from his belt. He could hear small fists pounding against a wooden door nearby. He felt his heart tighten.

_She is but a child,_ the Outsider whispered, and his feet seemed almost too heavy to move as he stepped forward, _but she has seen more than many of those who call themselves wise. Your hand brought this about; will you undo it?_ Can _you undo it?_

He was left with the taste of brine in the back of his throat, and the echo of the Outsider’s laugh in his ears.

“Havelock? You have to let me out! Who’s there? Corvo? Can anyone hear me?”

Daud approached the door slowly, the roaring of his blood in his ears almost too much to bear. His mark pulsed insistently on the back of his hand, and he wished he could scratch the brand from his skin.

The key slipped into the lock, and as the door clicked open he saw his daughter’s face for the first time since that day, at the Tower.

She smiled.

But it was not at him, he realized. It was the mask. The master assassin could see it fade slowly from her face as she took in his clothes, his build. He saw her look for familiar marks or weapons, and knew she would not find any. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and her dark eyes rose to meet his.

“Who are you?” asked Emily Kaldwin. “How did you get this mask?”

Daud could hear Thomas whispering behind him, and Anna answering in kind. His hand slowly rose, and the mask slipped from his face. The look that came over his daughter could only be described as hatred and, perhaps, fear.

“I’m a friend,” was all he could say before she leapt from her prison.

She barreled out of the room and down the stairs. He heard her steps on the metal walkways as he followed after her, albeit at a slower pace, his Whalers following closely. It would not do to frighten her even more by running after her.

The door to the lift slammed closed, and it began its slow descent. This was their chance to outrun her. The assassins blinked down the shaft, from cable to beam to ladder, and they arrived on the beach before the heiress had even stepped off the elevator.

Daud waited with his hands linked behind his back, the mask clutched tight in his hand, and he stiffened when she stepped on the beach, her steps slowly coming to a stop as she approached them and realized she had nowhere to run. She was panting, her black hair sticking to her sweat-covered forehead and cheeks.

“Where is Corvo?” she asked harshly, and when he stepped forward she raised a hand. “Don’t come any closer! Did you kill him too?”

The venom in her voice would have been enough to intimidate a lesser man, even despite her young age. But Daud was stone.

“No, girl,” he answered, and he saw her feature relax slightly in relief. He would not lie to her, and it was not in his nature to be gentle. “Havelock did.”

He saw her shudder, and a long, thin wail rose from her lips. Daud waited. When she lowered her eyes to her shoes, he stepped closer. She did not stop him this time, and the master assassin noticed the tears that stained her cheeks.

“Are you going to kill me too, then?” Emily asked. She seemed small now, and fragile. The Knife of Dunwall stopped a few steps away from her, staring down at his daughter.

“No,” he answered. “We’re going to take you away.” He hoped she would understand why. He hoped she would accept it, for her sake and his own.

Emily finally looked at him, and their eyes met. He hoped he did not notice how her eyes were a perfect mirror of his own. She must not know, not yet, he decided. The tears had stopped flowing, although her cheeks were still wet and red.

“But I’m Empress,” the protest was weak. There was no will there. He almost smiled.

“No,” he replied, and he could see the twitch of a retort on her lips, but spoke again before she could. “You’re a little girl. And Dunwall, the world, is not kind to little girls.”

Her eyes lowered back to her shoes for half a heartbeat before she looked up again.

“I’ve been having dreams about a black-eyed ghost,” the girl said, and Daud felt his mark throb beneath his glove. He almost cursed. Of course the Outsider would not leave her alone. “He said I would never be Empress, and that you were a friend.”

The assassin was surprised. Very rarely did the Outsider decide to reveal the future of those he had chosen to grace with his presence, and rarer still were the moments where he decided to help a mortal. He sighed, and pulled off a glove, showing her his mark. This simple action brought back memories he had buried deep, of the time he had done the same with her mother. He shook them away.

“I’ve met him too,” he said, and he saw Emily staring intently at the brand, her brows furrowed. “We don’t like each other very much, but I’ve known him for many years, and he’s never lied to me.”

Daud realized the words to be true as he said them. For all his condescendence and meddling, never had the Outsider lied to him or led him astray. He supposed he had to be grateful for the indulgence the Whale God had showed him.

“I will never sit the throne, then?” the girl asked, and the master assassin thought she looked so much older than she truly was just then.

“I don’t believe so,” he answered, pulling his glove back on.

There was silence then, the sound of the wind howling and the whispers of the Whalers the only voices to be heard, before Emily sighed and sat in the sand, rubbing her eyes and once more looking up at him.

He had never seen such sadness.

“Take me away,” she murmured.

He bent over her and picked her up, a hand under her knees and another on her back, and she simply curled into his chest. The Whalers busied themselves to prepare the boat for departure as he stepped on with her in his arms. They did not speak. When the boat’s engine roared to life and they slowly left Kingsparrow Island behind them, Emily fell asleep.

Daud dared to hope that he would find peace, now that both of them were safe. For once, the Outsider did not belie his thoughts.


End file.
